


quiet sunday mornings

by ienablu



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:18:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of the morning afters Herc and Stacker have spent together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quiet sunday mornings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayQueen517](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayQueen517/gifts).



> For the adorable MayQueen517.
> 
> I incorporated what elements from your letter that felt natural in the story, and I hope you enjoy it. <3

Herc wakes up to a shifting beside him. He opens bleary eyes, and sees Stacker sitting up.

Stacker glances back at him. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Herc replies. The quarters at the Hong Kong Shatterdome are compact and spartan and absolutely dismal; however, the 'dome was converted from a wave generator, and the PPDC did the best with what they had.

The bunks don't have that excuse.

Though Herc supposes no one thought there would be any reason to provide bunks large enough for two grown men.

A yawn pulls its way through his body, and Herc resettles on the bed. "What time's it?"

"Six-thirty," Stacker replies, without checking his watch.

Herc used to be like that – military, conditioned into waking up early on the dot. But Lightcap and her team of scientists speculate that some behavioral traits transfer over in the Drift, and Scott has a longstanding track record of rolling out of bed five minutes after he should have left the house.

Tamsin, on the other hand, has always been an early-riser, as far as Herc knows.

Herc also knows that bother Scott and Tamsin are going to be near unbearable at the mess hall this morning. Hook-ups between jaeger pilots are pretty par for the course. Staying through the night is practically unheard of. Herc almost wonders if that's just the fact that the bunks are too damn small. "Do we want to suffer the walk of shame to the mess hall together or separate?"

"Depends," Stacker says, as he picks last night's clothes off the floor. "Seems like it would be a whole lot of spectacle if we went down there together."

It's an understatement.

Herc and Stacker have slept together half a dozen times at this point. Herc isn't as unselective in his bedmates as some of the other pilots – Scott in particular – and he's only ever slept with Stacker. Stacker had engaged in a few other hook-ups, but those have since dwindled. They're already subjected to the occasional ribbing about how they're already half-married, though all the pilots know not to push it. They know about Angie, and they have suffered enough of their own losses to understand she's off-limits.

Stacker is the first person that Herc has slept with since Angie, Stacker is the first person that has actually talked to Herc about Angie, and Herc's attraction to Stacker goes far beyond their time between the sheets.

Some nights – and most mornings – Herc feels like he's cheating on her. But not this morning, Herc decides. Angie's not here anymore, and that thought is never going to not knock the wind out of him. He loved her, and he still loves her, but she's gone.

She's gone, and Stacker is here. Stacker won't replace her, wouldn't want to replace her, but Angie wouldn't want him to deny what he wanted.

Herc rises out of bed, yawning and stretching, and looking around for his own clothes. "Seems like we're causing a spectacle, then."

 

*

 

Stacker wakes up to bright Sydney morning sunshine streaming through the curtains. He wants to go back to sleep, but he's already slept in half an hour, and feeling better rested than he has in weeks. 

Dr. Lightcap and the science division within LOCCENT have assured the pilots they're looking into ways to lessen the nightmares they have all been suffering. Stacker has been keeping up with the issue, and it seems there is a debate whether the formula for metharocin could be tweaked to help prevent the nightmares, or if it's the metharocin itself that is a cause for them. Either way, it's been causing issues during the Drift, and the team has said they're open to all possible forms of alleviation; though Stacker doesn't think this is one form that Dr. Lightcap needs to know about.

Stacker spends another few minutes enjoying lying in bed, Herc warm against his side, before he pushes himself out of bed. He retrieves his boxers and pajama bottoms from the floor, forgoing his shirt, and pads his way out of the master bedroom.

The penthouse apartment that PPDC Representative Nilsson had graciously loaned Herc for the weekend is impressive. Not the most spectacular living quarters Stacker has spent time in, with Scott having had sought out and acquired celebrity mansions to party in, but Stacker has never been one for the flashier touches, and he enjoys it all the more for that.

The fridge is filled with fresh groceries, and Stacker takes a quick stock, before pulling out the eggs, tomatoes, [omelet things]. Representative Nilsson is wealthy enough that Stacker could spend the entire time cooking with the fridge wide open and the spike in the energy bill would be nothing more than a blip, but Stacker's upbringing has him shutting the door as quickly as he can.

Stacker returns briefly to the bedroom. Herc is still splayed on the bed, now lying diagonally and occupying the warm spot Stacker had left behind, one of his feet dangling off the edge. Stacker smiles as he fetches his phone from its spot on the plush carpet, and quietly re-exits the room. He had noticed the extensive sound system when he had flung Herc's shirt across the living room last night, and it's easy hook his phone up to an auxiliary jack. He scrolls through his library to one of his Yo-Yo Ma albums.

There are different speaker systems for all the different parts of the apartment, and he transfers the sound to the kitchen. _Unaccompanied Cello Suit No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: Prelude_ greets him on his entrance. 

Stacker has never been a fantastic chef. His mother did most of the cooking through his childhood, with the cafeteria taking over during military school. Christmas tradition of making homemade cookies with Luna has him a better baker than anything. But Tamsin's mother was a nurse and rarely home, and Tamsin had taken over command of the kitchen, which has slowly trickled to Stacker through their Drifts. He still doesn't consider himself fantastic, but his knife skills are solid, and he enjoys himself as his knife clicks against the cutting board in time with the music.

A few songs in, he hears the click of a camera, and turns around and sees Herc standing there, tucking his phone away. "I am the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet," he tells Stacker.

Stacker lets out a laugh. "Damn right you are," he says. "Pass me the tomatoes."

 

*

 

Tamsin is decommissioned, and the news goes viral through the PPDC. According to the Sydney LOCCENT Chief who tells Herc, it has only been half an hour since the announcement had been made known to the Coyote Tango J-techs.

Herc doesn't know how long it's been since Stacker was told, and his stomach clenches at the thought. Onibaba was a disaster from beginning to end, and after Stacker and Tamsin had been cleared from medical, Stacker had texted saying that at least it was over.

There's a selfish part of Herc that wants to drop everything and catch a flight to Tokyo right now. The next kaiju attack won't be for another month, minimum, and both Saber and Specter are battle-ready. But Herc's stationed in Sydney – even if Marshal Schoenfeld isn't military and isn't a stickler for the rules, Herc is, so he'll stay in Sydney.

A week later, Herc gets a text from Tamsin. 'Need you to do me a favour.'

'Anything' is Herc's immediate reply, because Stacker's presence in his life has made Tamsin a presence in his life, and he would do anything she asked of him.

'Distract him.'

Herc catches the first flight to Tokyo that he can get, and it's a miserable ten hours. A J-tech meets him at the airport and drives him to the Tokyo 'dome, and all other J-techs ignore how he knows the 'dome perfectly and pretend like they have no idea why he's here.

The sex is the worst they've had – Herc is jetlagged and tired and sore from economy seating, and Stacker is angry and tense and beginning to mourn, and they can't find their right rhythm and it's not painful but it's not pleasant.

"Sorry," Stacker says, that next morning.

Herc has a pounding headache, but he pushes himself to sitting, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his shoulder pressed up against Stacker's. "You don't need to apologize."

"I know," Stacker says. "But I wanted to."

They sit together in silence for a long minute.

"Schoenfeld wants to promote me," Stacker finally says. "He think that my having had been in combat would make a better marshal than him. He was never suited for that role."

Any other circumstance, and Herc would say, _You don't have to tell me_. Schoenfeld's a nice enough guy, and he's done his best, but he was unpopular amongst the jaeger pilots. Most of them had come from military, or something like it, and they knew what a commanding officer should be.

Herc knows what a CO should be. I think you would be brilliant at it."

Stacker looks over at him, and gives him a small, sad smile. "Thanks."

"Do you want the job?"

Stacker's face screws up for a moment, before he takes a deep breath in for four counts, before letting it out for four counts. "I want to stay a jaeger pilot," he says. "But if that's not an option..."

"I'm sorry," Herc says, softly.

"Don't," Stacker says, voice dropping into something harsh.

Herc has gone through the worse hell he could imagine in losing Angie – he can't imagine what it would be like losing his co-pilot. And Tamsin's not lost, not yet, but from what the rumor mill of the medical division is saying, she will be soon.

Stacker just takes in another deep breath, and sighs it back out. "I'm," he starts, his voice thick. "I'm thinking about adopting Mako."

"I think you'd make a brilliant father," Herc says, honestly. He doesn't add that Stacker'll probably be a better father than Herc is. Instead, he clears his throat, and adds, "Even if I don't know who Mako is."

"Tokyo's Daughter. I'll introduce you one day."

Herc smiles, trying to feign enough confidence and happiness for both of them. "I look forward to it."

 

*

 

A new blanket of snow has fallen outside, and the lights in the room are tinted a cool blue. Stacker has never minded the cold and dreary weather of Anchorage as much as other pilots or PPDC personnel – something to do with being raised in London, Tamsin always joked.

Herc, on the other hand, has spent most of his life in the bright sunshine of Australia, and he has never cared for his time in the Icebox. He never complains about it, or at least not nearly as much as Scott did, but there's a grimace on his face whenever he's preparing to go out, a resigned slump to his shoulders as he puts on an extra jacket under his winter coat.

Stacker himself had heard the estimates for snowfall, and isn't looking forward to trudging between the Icebox and the Shatterdome for the excess of upcoming meetings.

Scott's dismissal from the PPDC and Jaeger Program had been announced last Friday. The entirety of the PPDC Public Relations office had insisted on it – let people have the weekend to mull it over, before it became omnipresent on the news. And it will dominate the press, Stacker has been assured. The PPDC Representatives had all been against dismissing Scott, too much bad press, they said. Surely there were other ways to pull Scott from Lucky Seven without making a _spectacle_.

It won't be a spectacle, though, but a crucifixion. And Stacker can only hope he won't be the one being crucified. He wants the blame to fall where it deserves, squarely on Scott's shoulders, but Stacker also fears Herc will be dragged through the mud. 

It's the small hours before sunrise, and Herc is curled against his side, and Stacker allows himself a moment of self-pity. This isn't fair. He doesn't deserve this. They don't deserve this. They don't deserve any of this.

They don't deserve it, but that won't make it go away.

Stacker takes in a deep breath, and slowly lets it out.

There are still hours to go, before the first of the meetings and press releases and teleconferences and briefings and interviews.

Herc is curled against his side, and Stacker gazes at the curve of Herc's shoulder. He reaches a hand up, tracing the lines of lines of scars from Mark-I drive suit glitches that he knows lie under the thermal sleeping shirt. He looks at the messy disarray of ginger hair, which is just long enough to be standing up the wrong way. There are freckles on the back of Herc's neck, Stacker knows, small and barely unnoticeable unless paying careful attention.

He won't have time to pay attention to them for some time to come, but for now, the morning is theirs, and Stacker plans on making each minute and each freckle count.


End file.
